


MIDNIGHT KINGS

by Snake (Fatality145)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: M/M, Vegas AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:04:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatality145/pseuds/Snake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With more and more civillians going missing, hiked up drug cartels, numerous murders, something’s brewing in the darkness of the gorgeous Las Vegas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This is an art/writing collaboration between tumblr user halyen and myself, the gorgeous art being hers, and the writing mine ~ This fucker is gonna' be loooong, with m!Shenko introduced in a few chapters (◡‿◡✿)

Split lips parting, dark, coagulated blood spilt forth, splattering over the dirt, plumes rising up beneath his staggering feet, a few words running through his swimming mind:

 

                ‘ _Maybe you’re in over your head_ ,’

 

                That torn mouth twisted into a smug smirk, stretching a weeping gash over his jaw.

 

                ‘ _No chance_.’

 

\--

 

“…Big city.”

 

                “Oh, yeah. There’s no way a place this alive is clean.”

 

                How to even begin describing a metropolis like Las Vegas. A neon city that never slept. It was light out, but still the innumerable tall towers seemed to glow, the gorgeous shine and frenetic, fast-paced energy accented by the blood and bone smeared upon the curb, the gunpowder and red sand mixing with the scent of expensive cologne and cash in the air.

 

                You could never be quite sure if the patrons were aware of the dank underbelly of their city, or if they knew, and just dealt with it, or even if they were a part of it themselves. There was a calm within the perpetual movement, however. They’d lived like this for years, decades. But there were stirs, hiccups, slowly becoming closer and closer together, the atmosphere becoming darker.

 

                When a person died of alcohol poisoning, or drug overdose, there was nothing more to it. Though, when there were five cases of bashed in skulls from metal bats in a single week, something had to give. In a city like Vegas, most things were pushed under the carpet, forgotten a day after they’d happened, news veering towards new casinos and clubs rather than the gory details.

 

                ‘ _There’s something rotten growing in this city, Shepard. We’re sending you down, got that?_ ’

 

                It wasn’t as though he needed much more convincing than that. A free, all expenses paid extended vacation to Las Vegas? Anybody in the Alliance would be a dumbass not to take the offer. Of course, it wouldn’t be all fun and booze and cash and games, but there would definitely be enough of it to make the job worth it, if the work thirst wasn’t enough.

 

                This was a job in a million to score, and he and his crew were probably the best suited in the entire corporation for it. Direct infiltration, internal, systematic sabotage, all while under the guise of a tourist. There wasn’t a better way to find out about and eventually destroy the underbelly of Vegas than to become a part of it.

 

                ‘ _We’re handing this over to you, Shepard. By whatever means necessary, Cerberus must be dealt with. Don’t let us down_.’

 

                That part had come as a surprise.

 

                Despite it all, after the Akuze incident, the Alliance had seemed to give him even more lead. It had been a while before team Normandy, but you never could quite forget something like Akuze. Maybe that was the reason - soon after the case, casino lords Cerberus were found to have been the ones to plant the bomb which wiped out the rest of his squad, too underground to be prosecuted.

 

                Snorting softly, running a palm over his short buzz cut, Shepard sat back, expensive, plush leather of the seat conforming to his hindside, piercing azure eyes peering out to the city as they flew over.

 

                Outside of the private plane was ordinary, unadorned, but, on the inside, it was as though the Alliance tried to smear their insignia on every surface possible.

 

                “The place we’re staying at? Very swanky. You’ll like it, Shepard.” Speaking around the rim of his glass, throwing back the coke and whiskey, Garrus cocked a brow at him, a bit muted on the scarred side of his face, elbowing him in the ribs.

 

                Elbowing him right back, Shepard smirked, tipping his own glass, the melting ice clinking together.

 

                “Don’t plan on staying cooped up inside much,”

 

                “Oh, I’m sure. Just in case I decide to bring someone home. Or you do, maybe. But let’s not count on that.” The taller, lanky guy joked, placing the crystal glass back down.

 

                “Laugh it up, Garrus,” Shepard started, bringing the drink to his lips, “Good luck finding someone who actually _likes_ the scars.”

 

                “There’s always you, Shepard.”

 

                Almost spitting his drink out as he laughed into the glass, he brought it back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, “Right.”

 

                They’d been paired right since the beginning of Normandy, jabs having become a casual pastime between them.

 

                Groaning from the other side of the plane caught Shepard’s attention, leaning around Garrus from his window-side seat. “Problem, Joker?”

 

                “Why the _shit_ did I have to sit next to this guy?” Joker said, outright, shoving at the bulky man next to him, trying not to hurt himself in the process.

 

                “Buck up, Vega. S’only a little flight,” Garrus snorted, leaning back in his chair, neck tipping along the top of it. “We’ll be landing soon.”

 

                Face pressed into the chair in front of him, James grunted louder, crumpled paper bag in his hand. The tendons in his throat stuck out, a damp patch of sweat seeping into the back of his tight shirt, suit jacket discarded as soon as he had boarded the plane.

 

                “Bad enough you don’t let me fly this thing, but I’m sitting next to the _recruit_ ,” Jeff muttered, moving one of his legs over his knee before he was roughly pushed with James’ free hand, yelping and almost falling out of his chair. Sneering, he rubbed his upper arm, “Gonna’ have a bruise… Asshat.”

 

                “It was either that or the luggage compartment. This plane isn’t all that big, you know, all things considered.” Shepard returned, a small smile on his lips, as Vega mumbled something into the upholstery. He was more of a ground operative, not too good with flights.

 

                “Might have preferred being cramped up. At least I wouldn’t have the chance of being vomited on.” Waving his hand, Joker settled himself, the lot of them glancing upwards towards the plane’s speakers as the Captain spoke through:

 

                “Landing in approximately five minutes,”

 

                Sighing in relief, half of his face deeply flushed, Vega slumped into his seat, “ _¡Gracias a Dios!_ Finally gettin’ off this fuckin’ thing.” Pushing himself up from his seat, he thunked the back of his head on the roof of the plane, flinching back down before squirming himself out into the aisle, Joker pushing at him again.

 

                The plane, while small, was efficient, private, completely Alliance owned and almost able to bypass any regulations - which helped with the whole smuggling weapons into the city deal.

 

                It had become a sort of custom for team Normandy to have their own kinds of firearms, while all having the same edition style desert eagle: gold plated, each with their own names engraved into the sleek, shining metal.

 

                Reaching into his jacket, fingers sliding over the smooth leather of his holster, Shepard pulled out his own, the plates reflecting in the strong sunshine filtering through his window. He traced over the adorned name.

 

                ‘ _John Shepard_ ’

 

                His was one of the first to be engraved, and it wouldn’t be the last, Garrus’ glinting at his side as he stood up, adjusting his clothes and shrugging his jacket back on before shooting a glance back at him.

 

                “Come on, Shepard. The city of lights awaits,” He dramatically exclaimed, voice still, as always, like cold steel.

 

                Vega was the first to the door as the jet landed upon the private pad, atop a high, Alliance-owned hotel, jacket slung over his shoulder, looking like he was about to break the bannisters by how hard he gripped them.

 

                The warm air of Vegas flooded into the plane, the hatch sliding open with a hiss, a heavy juxtaposition against the conditioned area, Shepard already beginning to feel a sweat breaking out under his collar.

 

                Cheering, James almost tripped out of the aircraft. It was a surprise that he didn’t drop to his knees and kiss the concrete, flexing out his thick limbs, Joker hobbling out behind him, then Garrus and Shepard.

 

                Tipping his head back, John lifted a hand, shielding his eyes from the glaring sun which beat down over the entirety of the city, squinting slightly, waves of warmth warping along the horizon of the desert in the distance. It was nice, for once, after being stationed at the Vancouver headquarters for so long, to be in the heat. Where he’d grown up, it had been similar, the effects showing on his body, the weird tan lines melted to his skin. Fingers moved to his neck, loosening the tie around his throat and undoing the first few buttons of his dress shirt. Chances were, everybody was doing that. No way a person could withstand that kind of heat and be completely immaculate. Flicking out his sunglasses (designer, as so nicely paid for by the Alliance), he slid them on, the rest of the squad doing the same.

 

                The plane’s crew began filtering out after them, a few carrying their luggage, others checking out the condition of the jet.

 

                Eventually, there was a piled up stack of bags and cases, a tower of one of them teetering. Though, usually, brevity in packing was a good thing, easier, too, that was not the case here. It was Vegas, and it was going to be exploited as much as possible, despite the severity of the case at hand.

 

                Turning on his heels, Shepard made to start picking up his things before one of the staff stopped him with a friendly smile, waving off his hand.

 

                “We have bellhops heading up to the roof, Sir, don’t worry yourself,” They told him.

 

                Face twisting up a little, he turned back to Garrus who shrugged, curling his fingers around the lapels of his jacket.

 

                “The Alliance aren’t saving any expense, it seems,”

 

                “Hell yeah. I’m not gonna’ complain,” Vega added with a massive grin smeared over his face. Chances were, he was going to take the most advantage of the apparent vacation, until it actually got down to the gritty stuff.

 

                “I’d hope so – we should be treated like Kings with the job they’ve got us doing,” Turning his head towards the multiple hotel attendants who stepped out of the roof’s elevator, Joker adjusted his cap, the dirty look he shot back as James responded being oh-so apparent through the dark shades:

 

                “You know, you didn’t _have_ to come, Pájaro,” Tipping a shoulder, Vega stepped out of the bellhops’ way as they began to stack the luggage up.

 

                “Yeah, well. I couldn’t just leave you guys to drive yourselves around this place,” Jeff said, rolling his eyes, “You’d get lost in no time. Or get in a car accident, I mean, I’ve seen how Shepard drives, it isn’t good.”

 

                Huffing loudly, John had half the mind to shove the guy again, if it wouldn’t end up in a broken arm or something. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

 

                “Oh, yeah?” Joker began, the squad setting off behind their luggage back towards the elevator, “How many Alliance cars have you totalled? This _year_?”

 

                Shepard kept quiet, cocking a brow and looking elsewhere, actually having to think the question over. Maybe he was a little bad, a little risky. Maybe. But he always got the job done.

 

                “Six in the past eight months, that I know about,” Garrus answered for him, shifting into the open elevator, the others following him, the trays of their belongings being wheeled in and filling the rest of the space.

 

                “Let’s not make it seven, alright?” Leaning his elbow on the elevator’s bannister, Joker gave the leader a faint smirk as he squeezed into the corner, sighing.

 

                “Have a little faith.”

 

                “Surprised you make it out in one piece every time, Loco,” Vega said, taking up a good chunk of the closed space for himself.

 

                Shepard’s brow flattened, pursing his mouth, taking the time to glance around the elevator and feeling the sudden rush of vertigo as it began to slide down. If even the small room was any indication of what was downstairs, it _was_ going to be all kinds of classy.

 

                The walls were stark white marble, accented with patterns and flushes of blue stone granite, silver plated railings, with rediculously clean flooring beneath their feet. Lifting one of the soles of his dress shoes, Shepard buffed his heel against the tiling, trying to leave a mark of some kind. It must have been waxed as such as to leave no marks – he couldn’t deny that he was impressed. It’d be something to get used to, even revel in. One of the rooms in this place was probably bigger than his whole apartment back home. 

 

                The staff were respectfully quiet, pleasant expressions on their faces, their clothes perfectly pressed and wrinkle-free. They were an actual part of the Alliance, Shepard could tell, not just people who worked for the hotel, and he wondered if the situation in Vegas was really that bad that the corporation were sending down their own men. He guessed they were in for quite the trip.

 

                Somewhat appeasing elevator music died down, the lot of them taking off their sunglasses once they hit ground level, still having to check in, the doors sliding open.

 

                The state of the elevator was nothing compared to the lobby of the place, a collective ‘ _whoa_ ’ coming from each of the squad members.

 

                High ceilings spread upward with gorgeous plaster work, intricate, but tasteful, wide windows spilling in warm light over the plush, deep carpet underfoot. Every surface was either marble, gold or silver plate, or brilliantly shined chrome. The place was _expensive._ No way would any of them be able to afford it if the Alliance didn’t provide the hospitality, as well as basically limitless credit cards, all charge going straight to the organization.

 

                They weren’t lying when they stated ‘ _by any means necessary_ ’.

 

                “…A little… over the top, don’t you think?” Garrus asked, impressed nonetheless, slowly stepping out with the rest of them.

 

                “They went all out with this place. And to think, it’s money they could have given us,” Snorting, Joker stepped over to the counter, a woman ready to check them in sitting behind it, the smile on her face almost _too_ nice, Garrus heading up and leaning on the bench.

 

                Turning on his heels, looking about, Vega linked his fingers behind his head, flinching as he accidentally backed into one of the guys wheeling their luggage over to the other elevators, knocking off one of the cases. He twisted around, apologizing profusely and picking it back up as Shepard chuckled under his breath, glancing over and receiving the acknowledging nod once Garrus had signed them all in.

 

                “We’ll have someone direct you to your floor. All of your belongings will be waiting for you there.” The attendant told them, voice sickly sweet like honey, beckoning them over to another woman who held her arm to the vacant elevator.

 

                “If you will follow me, gentlemen,” She smiled, pressing in one of the buttons, the doors opening.

 

                Sharing a look with Jeff, Shepard stepped in, the rest following suit. The elevator moved up through the floors, that music coming back again.

 

                “Would you like to hear about the hotel’s revenues? I’m sure you’ll be delighted,” The woman continued, hands neatly folded behind the small of her back. Shepard half wished she would be like the valets who had lead them down into the hotel, but you can’t win them all, opting to stay quiet as James inquired her.

 

                There were pools, spas, salons, bars, the whole deal that would be expected from a hotel of this calibre, so he wasn’t exactly surprised to hear about it, blue eyes watching the numbers tick over until they finally reached their floor.

 

                The hall stretched down the entire length of the complex, branching off into different parts, their luggage being at the last room, a large window making up a portion of the wall leading out to a skyline view of the city, tinted as to not let too much glinting light in, but also not to ruin the sight.

 

                “Just down this way, sirs,”

 

                Following the attendant down, Shepard was stopped just before their door by one of the bellhops holding out a box of choice cigars, thick, dark tobacco exquisitely wrapped in flavoured papers. The rest of the squad entered the room as he hovered a hand over the box, mouth quirked. Sure, he’d brought over about twenty decks of his favourite smokes, but this was _Vegas._ He had to live it up. Instead of just taking one, he plucked the box out of the guy’s hands, giving him a short smile before making a beeline into the room.

 

                It was extravagant, to say the least. Wide windows overlooking Vegas, dark red drapes pulled back, like blood against the alabaster tile and walls lined with paintings and art Shepard didn’t care all that much for. The first room was massive, bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, leading off into the separate rooms.

 

                Taking out one of the cigars, Shepard brought it to his lips, reaching into his pocket and producing his lighter, the hard steel emblazoned with the symbol: ‘ _N7_ ’. Of all the free things he’d gotten from achieving the apex of the ruthless program, the flick lighter was probably his favourite, flipping the top open and lighting the stick up. He had other things, clothes, with the same symbol, but he had to leave all that stuff behind at his apartment – he couldn’t just parade around in it and risk blowing his cover. Shepard was just another, regular person in the sea of neon.

[](http://s264.photobucket.com/albums/ii171/Roflwaffle94826/?action=view&current=vegasshep.png)

 

                He peered around, taking in the aspects, the curved pillars, a thought coming to him. Double-timing it, he hurried off down one of the halls, towards the bedrooms. No way was he going to get stuck with one of the mediocre rooms. He wanted the best one, maybe one with its own hot tub and balcony, if they had it. He wouldn’t be surprised if they did.

 

                Ducking his head into the rooms, he frowned. The ones he looked at weren’t up to par, there would have to be a better one. His hopes were dwindling a little by the time he got to the last room, only to be renewed to come across the master bedroom. It was as good as he’d expected, and then some.

 

                A huge bed was smack bang right in the middle, thin pillars attached to the frame going up to the ceiling, draped, thin cloth along it sticking to the white and red colour scheme, elegant covers and beside tables, a wide balcony jutting out of the side, plain glass sliding doors. The thing even had its own bar. Grinning to himself, Shepard walked in, taking a deep drag of the cigar in his mouth, the silky smoke curling into his lungs and out by his parted lips as he exhaled.

 

                The grin persisted on his face as he stepped further in, checking out the bathroom that did indeed have a hot tub. He’d scored, big time. If Joker tried taking this room off him, the guy would definitely be getting that arm-shattering shove. Shepard would be pretty damn content with staying in a place like this. Shuffling back out, he flopped onto the bed, the lush covers soft beneath his shoulders. He took a breath in of the cigar, again, shutting his eyes, taking the time to simply revel in the whole room.

 

                “I assume this is the room you’re taking, Sir?” That same attendant interrupted his quiet moment, poking her head through the ajar doorway, that exact same smile on her lips.

 

                He lay still for a few more seconds, brow knitting softly, before he pushed himself up, dragging over one of the ashtrays neatly placed on the bedside table and flicking off the ash from the cigar.

 

                “Yeah. I think so.” Pressing his palm into the sheets, Shepard looked out through the windows again. Soon enough, he would be in the thick of that, meshing with the citizens, becoming one of them, but with a secret weight pressing down on his shoulders.

 

                “I hope it’s to your tastes, I will have the staff bring your labelled belongings in.”

 

                “Thanks—“ Shepard began to say before she was gone again, replaced by Garrus who had to duck his head slightly to enter the room, hand on his hip.

 

                “I see you shotgunned the best room in the place,” He said.

 

                “Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, Vakarian?” John returned, smirking and getting up into a stand.

 

                “Even got a stripper pole. You’d better put that to good use or I’m going to be extremely disappointed, Shepard.” Garrus shrugged off, like water upon a duck’s back, pointing to the metal bar that ran from the floor to the ceiling as Shepard looked to him curiously.

 

                He hadn’t even noticed it, the silver just blending into the rest of the room.

 

                “Huh. So it does.” Shepard mused, rubbing the back of his neck, handing off the cigar to the other. That pole would get a working, one way or another, the elegance and absolute sexiness of pole dancing being a quiet vice of his.

 

                “Listen. Settle your things in, then you and me? We should hit the town before it gets dark, before we need to start this… thing.” Garrus told him, the smoke pluming out past his lips as he spoke.

 

                “It’s a date,” Shepard replied, grinning lopsidedly again as the guy softly laughed, taking the cigar with him as he left the room.

 

                “I’ll be out the front.”

 

                Bellhops with his specific luggage came in, asking where to place his things and piling the cases up on the bed after being instructed, leaving respectfully immediately after.

 

                Looking over the cases, Shepard tilted his head, adjusting the holster strapped around his chest and just opting to leave the stuff there, probably a little too eager to get out into the city and walking back through their hotel room. Vega was scoping out the place as he set up his things, and Joker was sat at one of the desks, meticulously opening and fixing all the technology he’d brought. Things like cameras, mics and electronic leeches, all the kinds of items they would be using in the near future.

 

                He got those same charming smiles as he made his way into the lobby, giving them a small wave before he exited through the revolving doors. The sun hit him full blast, again, donning the shades and turning to Garrus who stood looking out to the busy streets. From that one point, at least three casinos were visible, as well as a few clubs and malls, Vakarian tipping his head, glancing at him.

 

                “Shall we?”

 

                Vegas – the apex of ecstatic, roiling pleasure and dark, invisible pain.


	2. Mystique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Blue Stahli || Mystique](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GCD93OuRRhQ)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAuedhfhdjh wowow sorry for taking so long to get this out i just ;^; exam prep and distracted by other thingshgsjdsjhhj sorrysorry buT. DIS GON GET GOOD HEUHEU.
> 
> again - gorgeous lovely art by tumblr user halyen ~

“I’ll take that… Thank you,” He purred, plucking a tall cocktail off a waitress’ platter as she walked past. Shooting her a charming smile, she cocked a brow back before a small grin played on her lips, falling into the throng of the crowd, people, gamblers, tourists.

 

                “Might want to slow it down, Shepard.” Garrus told him, slowly nursing a beer in his hand, “Don’t want to be off your face before anything interesting happens, do you?”

 

                Snorting, Shepard cleared the rest of the drink, placing the empty glass down on the next waitress’ platter who passed. “Live it up, Garrus. I mean, _Vegas_ , not every day we end up here.”

 

                “Maybe not, but one of us has to have a clear head when you end up face down on a dirty floor, and I don’t think it’ll be you, you know what I mean?” Tipping a shoulder, the taller guy leant his elbow up on the bar’s bench, long fingers curling against the scarred side of his jaw. Garrus had had his own bad run-ins with Cerberus. Once of them involving an explosive lance that just happened to come a little too close to his face for comfort. Risky work for an undercover operative, but that’s just what team Normandy did. And the Archangel was more than eager to join up after he’d been helped out of his own situation, at least, that’s what Shepard thought.

 

                ‘ _Not so sure I’m ‘eager’, Shepard. Trouble has a way of… following you around, you could say._ ’

 

                Shepard’s brow furrowed lightly, poking around in the peanut bowl for a moment before opting against it. Probably spitbacks, anyway. “Pretty sure I can handle my alcohol better than you can, Vakarian,”

 

                “That a challenge?” He cocked a brow, smirking lopsidedly.

 

                “And if it is?”

 

                “Then that’s too bad, I’m not getting roped into this one.” Garrus waved his hand nonchalantly to answer Shepard’s huff, “I think I can still feel the headache from last time.”

 

                A rough laugh past Shepard’s lips, elbows leaning back on the bench. “That’s loser talk, Garrus…” He shrugged a shoulder, “I guess whoever wins loses anyway, with the whole getting-your-stomach-pumped-at-three-am thing.”

 

                “Exactly,” Finishing the rest of his drink, Garrus placed it down, the bartender immediately homing in on it. He rolled his neck, giving Shepard a sidelong look and running his fingers through his hair, “You’re paying, right?”

 

                Slipping a hand into his pocket, Shepard took out his wallet, then took out the credit card from that, some fake first name and his surname imprinted into the plastic. “Alliance is paying for this one,”

 

                “I wonder what they’re going to think when the entirety of their bill is either taken-out hard cash or alcohol credit…” Garrus mused, staving off the all too common stares he got from passers-by. He was just a _little_ out of place in the establishment, even if the fact that it was Las Vegas was taken into account. Glancing over his shoulder, he motioned for two more beers, handing one off to the other before cracking open the lid of his own

 

                “Not a damn thing, not when I get their worms cleaned out,” Smug look on his face, Shepard brought the top of the bottle to his lips, taking a slow, deep drag.

 

                They had it on good word that the place was a hotspot, writhing with activity, both normal and bad, which would be a perfect place to start – suitable cover within the people, with the possibility of finding a slug in the underbelly itself. He mightn’t be one to brag, he thought, but Shepard had a silver tongue when he wanted one, and that sort of thing helped with his line of work.

 

                He was a ghost here. He could be anyone he wanted to be, really; a business man, a simple person on vacation, a tycoon or a thrill seeker. And he would be whatever was needed to get his way inside.

 

                Illusive Man was right, the bastard was definitely elusive. The leader of the Cerberus Corporation was everywhere to be found and nowhere to be found, at the same time. Nobody, save for his personal operatives, knew of his whereabouts. He worked from the shadows into the artificial light of Vegas, the most richest and powerful man in the city being the most reclusive and deadly.

 

                More than once had Shepard opened up a morning paper to cheesy headlines, bad ones that didn’t even rhyme, pertaining to the Illusive Man and Cerberus’ acts. It was getting worse, though, the latest few chapters actually making his skin crawl a little, which was saying a lot from a guy like Shepard.

 

                Cerberus was an idea, a fear, perpetuating through the city and possibly beyond. Those scorned were burnt, figuratively and literally, a symbol blistered into the skin of their bodies, more often than not their corpses, too. The more graphic pictures weren’t put in the tabloids, for obvious reasons, but Shepard had seen some shit through the Alliance’s networks; victims left in the desert, their bodies beaten and bruised, bones broken before they were killed, slowly and painfully, in a multitude of ways, all topped off with a simple symbol seared into their flesh, clear for anybody to see who might come across them, and that’s what Cerberus was hoping for.

 

                You didn’t cross Cerberus, and you played by their rules. That might have been okay, a hierarchy in an unstable metropolis, if not for the rising body count, the thefts and hysteria and illegal laundering.

 

                “Shepard…?”

 

                Stuck in his head, a little unfocused, Shepard just about dropped the beer in his hand, sputtering into it as he heard another voice beside him, a presence he hadn’t realized or felt. He coughed, wiping the back of his wrist over his mouth and looking to the source.

 

                A man in simple clothing, neat, an almost solemn expression on his slightly sullen face, stood close by, hands folded behind his back. He had a kind look about him, but if you knew better, the threat and violence was just beneath the skin.

 

                Slowly exhaling, a lump of relief was dropped off Shepard’s shoulders as he finally realized who it was.

 

                “Thane…”

 

                “I had not meant to startle you—“

 

                “Mr. Krios. Fancy seeing you here,” Garrus smiled lopsidedly, waving his half-full bottle in greeting.

 

                “Garrus,” Thane returned, bowing his head respectfully, “I had not expected to see you two here so soon… I assume the rest of the squad is also here?” Green eyes regarded them carefully, in a way Shepard had quickly gotten used to and dropped. That was just Thane.

 

                “ _Vegas_ , Thane. Couldn’t wait to get here,” Shepard smirked, “Yeah, Joker and Vega are back at the hotel. We’re staying at the Alliance’s,” He told him, more sensibly taking a sip of his drink, that time.

 

                Thane’s eyes narrowed slightly, tilting his head, “Vega?”

 

                “Yeah. James Vega. He’s a new recruit,” Shepard explained. Maybe not so much new to the whole thing as just new to Normandy.

 

                “I see…”

 

                “He’s a meathead.” Garrus started, bluntly, “…But he gets the job done.”

 

                Huffing softly, Thane let out a small laugh, straightening out his plain, white dress shirt, the top few buttons open and parted. “Whatever _does_ get the job done, I suppose.” He paused a moment, “I am curious, though. Why is it that you are here? Here, specifically,” Making his point, he looked back out into the establishment. Nobody looked back at him, or even noticed him. It were as though he were invisible to anybody else.

 

                “This is one of Cerberus’ joints, right? Figured that would be a good place to start,” Shepard said.

 

                “Not exactly,” Shaking his head, Thane continued, “This is, what you could call, a daughter organization of Cerberus - Hades’ Dogs – under their corporate umbrella.”

 

                “That could explain the… architecture,” Garrus dryly added. It was one of the more darker bars, even with the late afternoon sun coming in, the heavy traffic, it still had that dangerous feel, likely what drew them in.

 

                “So… This isn’t a good place to start, so much?” Running a hand over his buzzcut, Shepard made a face. It might have done them better to do a _little_ more investigation before running in headfirst, guns figuratively blazing. He was _definitely_ going to punch Joker when he got back.

 

                “There are more… suitable places.” Thane explained, “I can direct you, if you wish?”

 

                “That would be appreciated.” Garrus said, petting Shepard on the top of his head since he was still making that same face, “You can blame this one for the mix-up.”

 

                “Not like you or any of the others picked up on it, either,” Shepard swat his hand away, drinking more of the alcohol, eyes lightly closed, brow cocked.

 

                “There is a casino and bar and hotel-motel establishment, a few blocks from here, simply named ‘ _Lazarus_ ’. I believe that is where you should start. It is Cerberus’… Baby, if you will, their biggest and most prosperous of casinos in the city.” Thane beckoned them to follow, Garrus placing his half-finished beer down, Shepard sculling the rest of his own before jogging out.

 

                The sun blazed, as it always did, the three of them donning shades, Shepard and Garrus following either side of the informant. The people outside were like the ones inside, never giving Thane a second look, not noticing him but unconsciously stepping out of their way on the wide footpath.

 

                “You will have to be careful. Don’t draw too much attention to yourself. There are constant guards and Cerberus operatives prowling the area, though I’m sure you’ve realized this, by now.”

 

                Shepard hadn’t realized it, actually, but he guessed he’d seen it coming; the alcohol and the heat making him sweat again. Maybe the suits weren’t such a good idea, he’d have to look for other, more suitable clothes sometime. Though, the suits _were_ snazzy, and he liked them, but his body and the sun? Not so much.

 

                Car traffic was heavy, motorcycles drifting between the lanes and a pang of envy swept through Shepard. He’d have to get one of those, too. It took a few minutes before they were allowed to cross the road, the asphalt’s warmth seeping into his dress shoes. Hot and volatile temperature for a hot and volatile city. Fitting.

 

                “Just around the corner, here,” Thane motioned before stopping in his tracks, turning on his heels to face the two of them, “…Is Lazarus. I’m afraid I cannot join you until I’ve returned to my apartment and… changed. Too many people have seen me today.” His lips pursed, “I will be fifteen minutes, then I will join you inside, though you may not find me, know that I am there,”

 

                Shepard would have begged to differ, snorting. He bet that if Thane was in a line up, even after having his face completely seen, he still wouldn’t be able to be picked out. “Where are you staying, anyway?”

 

                “Ilium.”

 

                “… _Yeah_ , I’m pretty sure that’s at _least_ an hour’s walk away. Other end of the city, in fact.” Garrus stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

                Thane was an informant on one hand, and an assassin on the other, either of them uniquely intertwined into the person that he was, invaluable. He wasn’t a part of the Alliance, working with Shepard specifically rather than them as a whole, the setup suiting perfectly to all parties. Thane wasn’t entirely lawful, and sometimes Shepard needed that to get the job done.

 

                A small smile crossed Thane’s lips. “I know this city well. I will keep in touch.”

 

                Just as he turned to leave, a flock of people past between them, and he was simply gone, as though he hadn’t been there at all. That had always unnerved Shepard, and always left him a little in awe, too.

 

                “Well… Shall we?” Garrus turned to other, walking forward as he outstretched an arm.

 

                “Let’s,” A cheesy smile stretched over Shepard’s lips, following next to him. Sliding out his wallet, he took out the card again; he’d have to get cash out inside. He looked to the make of the place; tall walls of plaster, intricately adorned with more pieces of plated chrome and gold. One of the things that stuck out, though, was the lack of windows. It was strange, but a good tactic. Anybody inside wouldn’t be able to tell the time from the light alone, and since there likely wasn’t any clocks inside, either.

 

                The line inside was long, but quick moving, people going in and coming out at equal rates. Trying (and failing) to channel his inner assassin sleuth, Shepard kept minimal eye contact with the door keepers through his shades, attempting to play it cool and clean, a few of them frowning lightly at him before letting he and Garrus in.

 

                “You might need to pay more attention to Thane if you want to work that, Shepard…” Garrus told him once they were inside, removing the sunglasses, “I think you got more of their attention than you would have if you acted _normal_ , for once,”

 

                “I tried and therefore you can’t criticise me,” Shepard returned matter-of-factly, “Where’s the bar…?”

 

                It was much bigger on the inside than the outside, which was for sure. It was breathtaking on a whole different level, exquisitely. The lobby was huge, tourists standing in groups on the plush, multi-coloured carpet, disorienting if you looked at it for too long, wide archways leading into the different parts. From where Shepard was standing, he could see the gambling room, bigger than the rest, a couple restaurants off to the side, and another doorway, the opening covered with thick, pulled curtains. Flittering, neon lights sparked through, bass heavy music pounding out, an overall secretive and sultry feel coming from it, instantly catching Shepard’s eye.

 

                “Hey,” He elbowed Garrus, eyes still on the curtains, “I’ll meet up with you, I’m just gonna’ check something out. Alright? Alright.” And with that, he sauntered over, only hearing a soft snort, no questions. Garrus was good like that.

 

                He was almost at the door, to the two bouncers standing by before the money thought came back, veering off to the ATM and getting the cash out. A hundred dollars should be good, for now, at least, he thought, paying the entrance fee and getting a few more eyes at the door before he stepped in.

 

                Smoke instantly met with him, blearing his sight before he blinked it away. The lights were blinding, but in the drawing-in kind of way, deep shadows and loud music, bare flesh and booze. Just the kind of place for Shepard. Another smarmy smile came to his face, weaving in through the tables and chairs, their surfaces sticky with spilt drinks, past the couches and lounges where a single spot was filled with two bodies, one over the other, hips teasing against hips, notes handed easily over.

 

                Even in the darkness, the attention grabbing sounds, Shepard noticed the Alliance symbol painted on the far wall, quirking a brow. Curious. He then started noticing it everywhere else, smeared over the tight white shirts of the girls and guys alike, engraved into the shot glasses, the tiling in the floor.

 

                It was an Alliance-themed strip bar. Shepard couldn’t help the laugh that came at the irony of it. Either the Illusive Man had no idea about the Alliance at his tail, or he was trying to be _funny_. It was most likely the latter, knowing his nature.

 

                Shrugging it off, Shepard took up a chair near both the bar and the stage, two fluid females working their way seductively around the poles that stretched up to the high ceiling, their undulating forms scantily clad, of course. There was a crowd, as he’d expected, seated up close, money in their hands, trying to get the dancers’ attention and maybe more, fighting over the clothes that were thrown at them and thrown off from the girls’ bodies.

 

                He was served quickly, more gorgeous women coming up to him, asking him if he needed anything, a drink, or something else even more expensive than the overpriced alcohol. Shepard declined with that same charming smile, despite himself. He thought he might as well get _some_ work done before he got plastered. That was what he was getting paid for, in the long run.

 

                That was before he got served by another, anyway, a male, a very particular male, that had managed to draw his eyes from the dancers, instantly blowing his pupils wide, blocking everything else out, making his breath even shorter.

 

                “Is there anything I can get you?” He asked, his voice deep, rough, quiet, but Shepard could hear it perfectly in the din of the den. Hazel eyes reflecting the lights, perfectly styled hair, musculature covered in tight cotton, accenting and exposing the contours, absolutely _gorgeous_.

 

                “…Oh, _hell yeah_.”


End file.
